The Claiming of Albert Wesker
by surrealisticdreams
Summary: Crossed with Anne Rice's The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty, Albert Wesker awakens in a different world where he is sent for slavery to the Queen. Here he learns mental discipline, finds friendship, discovers passion, meets love, and is given redemption. Old enemies become friends and old friends become lovers. What's to happen to the former captain of STARS and late dog of Umbrella?
1. Albert's reawakening

Albert's Struggle and Reawakening

_There was a searing pain boring though Albert's body, tearing away skin and flesh from him as the volcano's lava embraced him like the depths of Hell itself. The smell of burning hair and human skin filled his nostrils, almost causing him to retch. He saw him, his enemy- formerly his subordinate- escaping into a helicopter with Sheva. He wasn't going to die. He couldn't die. He wasn't ready._

_He was scared._

_Fear. An emotion he thought he was incapable of feeling even in the face of Death. But now, as his rival walked away with minor injuries, everything he lived for, he dreamed about, everything that encompassed every fiber of his being; was now in vain. He was going to die for nothing. As he momentarily let fear engulf him, he called out to him. He was still the captain, was he not? Wouldn't he still feel loyal to him? No. He was betrayed._

_"__**CHRIIIIIISSS!**__"_

_He screamed, pain everlasting, suffering never ending, and just as he thought he couldn't be hurt any longer, the one he called his subordinate shot him with missiles. He heard the explosions and ringing in his ears before he felt them, fire and metal bursting through him and his body in great bursts, like being punched by Nemesis. He could no longer scream. His eyes couldn't cry. He had lost vision before he was submerged. _

_And now, fully under the surface, his skin, hair, muscles, thoughts, dreams, everything that was Albert Wesker tore away from him by fire, plunging him down to what felt like Satan's lair. Only the sound of his voice calling out echoed in his mind._

He awoke, gasping and covered in sweat, the sun blinding his eyes as a scream was caught in his throat. He blinked, looking around an unfamiliar room. Quite old fashioned looking, it seemed. Somewhat high arches reached about the doorway with a long mirror about the wall, on the other side of the room stood a bookshelf with a leather seat near it- like a small study. The room looked medieval. Groaning as he got up from his bed he stood, looking down at himself. It really did seem as though he were in a completely different time period; his attire consisted of a white blouse with cross strings about the top of the collar and a pair of long, white sleeping trousers.

Thoroughly confused he crossed to the mirror on the stone wall, studying himself. He certainly changed, his hair his normal length though without it being slicked back and he seemed to look younger. Subtle lines on his face that were the only signs of aging were now gone and his physique was somewhat skinnier. He still had a very strong build and a lovely body to show off but it was as though all the years of training that he spent was depleted. In fact, it looked as though he were more or less in his teenaged years. The only similarity between how he previously looked and then were his eyes. They were still crimson about the edge of the iris and golden around the pupil. Eyes that would have the ability to glow when the scenery was dark. Was this a dream? Was it the after life? Had he finally found rest and now his Heaven- or Hell was in this medieval realm where everyone was younger? He walked back to where his bed was, looking out the window and out onto a lavish garden bursting with lilies and a rich looking fountain. Standing about his lawn were a group of what looked like soldiers- theirs or did they belong to someone else- who started entering into his castle. Were they after him?

In an instant his thoughts stopped and his wondering ceased. The voice he heard sounded familiar... The very sound of it made his stomach churn and bile threaten to enter his throat.

_Spencer._

The voice was faint, so much that it would be impossible for anyone else to hear him but he heard. He couldn't mistake that voice. Rage built up inside him as he stormed out of his room and down a long corridor; high walls with windows that reached from the floor up to the ceiling, long silken curtains blowing as warm air tickled his hair. No matter how serene the scenery was the fury within his soul did not cease. It could not for it burned as hot as the lava that was the death of him- or so he thought. He could not bare to look upon the face that held the voice he heard- getting clearer as he drew closer to the winding staircase that lead to the ground level floor. The floor plan of the estate seemed oddly reminiscent of the mansions he had explored while killing monsters.

_I killed you. I could still feel my hand ripping through your chest. I could still see the light leaving your disgusting eyes. I remember you being old. I remember your wheelchair. I murdered you. You were gone from my life and yet you still haunt me in my death?_

His lips were pulled back in a snarl as he bounded down stairs- though they relaxed back to normal as his gaze fell upon the soldiers he was talking to. By the time he reached them, his gaze looked as calm as it normally did- even though his insides were tumbling and making him feel sick.

"Ah, Albert. We were just speaking about you." Oswald Spencer smiled, though his entire manner seemed a manufactured pleasantness as he clasped his shoulders and displayed him before the soldiers. "You are seventeen now. You are to be a tribute for the Queen." he spoke with a sneer. Albert couldn't help but shake from his grip on his shoulder, noticing the manner of Spencer's attire. He was a king so it seemed, dressed in regal attire of the era.

"A tribute? What exactly will I be doing then? Fighting? Am I to be a soldier?" he asked, his eyes glaring daggers at the older man. Spencer and the soldiers laughed heartily as though Wesker had told a particularly amusing joke.

"My boy, do you not know what goes on at the Queen's Castle? My King, have you so horridly sheltered this boy that he knows not of what goes on every year?"

"Of course not. I've made sure he knows _very well_ of the deeds that go on within her castle. However, perhaps he needs to be reminded. Spoiled brat he is." Spencer spoke with the faintest leer, the last sentence spoken more aside. "At the castle you will be nothing but a slave. You will be treated like filth. And you will learn respect for those who are _superior._"

_I suppose you believe yourself to be superior, do you, Spencer? Do you have the right to be a God? I made that right mine when I murdered you._

He was silent, however seething. He could turn and run if he so chose to, but he stood his ground. He wasn't to be cowardly in front of these men. He would fight them. They weren't going to take him anywhere until they beaten him down.

"Now, young prince, we are to remove your clothes and prepare you for departure."

"_Remove my clothes? Who on earth do you think you are?!" _his anger broke out as he growled at him, his once calm face now a perfect picture of the pure rage that was building up inside him.

"Do not struggle, Albert. They'll take care of you." Spencer said with an air of indifference as he departed from the scene. The soldiers began to advance on him and immediately he started fighting them off, growling and snarling like a cornered animal as they tried to keep him still enough. Finally one of the guards took out his sword and cut open his clothing before binding him with a leather bit fitted to his mouth and his arms and legs bound together. Albert was still wriggling when one the Captain of the Soldiers slung him over his shoulder as though he were merely a sack of potatoes.

"Come along, young prince. We haven't got all day for you to act like an uncontrolled child." the soldier spoke apathetically before giving his behind a firm spank with his hand. Wesker growled, his voice groaning behind the bit as he wiggled harder, trying to move himself away from his blows. Soon he found his struggle was useless as they were all on horses and moving forward through the kingdom.


	2. Journey to the Castle

The Journey to The Queen's Castle

Now silent and quite lethargic from struggle and a steady flow of spanking, Albert hung from the man's shoulder, feeling like a hunted animal. The only solace he found was imagining blowing his captor into pieces or perhaps injecting him with the Uroboros virus enough times to make the slithering parasites explode from him within minutes. Yes, this caused a stirring in his chest and he had to fight off the dark laughter that threatened to bubble from his chest and out of drooling lips around the leather that was fitted into it. He thought of stabbing his care-taker through the chest continuously until the man was no more than a broken face and many holes through a desecrated body. He idly wondered if such thoughts meant that he was crazy. Not that it meant much then.

His buttocks burned and he could've sworn they were glowing even in sunlight. Surely the other soldiers around him were getting a view of his body. Oddly enough, such a thought filled him with pride, knowing very well that he was quite handsome even in the degrading position he was in. He was perfection, was he not? One with DNA perfect enough to survive the Wekser Project, and no doubt something else thought him perfect enough for him to survive even after death. And yet, was he really living? Or was this all some sort of dream in the after life? As they came close to a village on the boarder of what was Albert's kingdom, the captain ordered the rest of his men to halt before coming off of the horse with his misbehaved prince. He attached a lead to the leather bit that connected to metal rings on either side of his cheeks before untying his bonds. With the way the bit was fitted to his head, there would've been no use in trying to run away.

"Stand.", the soldier gave his order quickly and sharply before smacking him in the backs of his calves with a whip. Begrudgingly Albert stood, glaring at the soldier. He silently prayed for the man to just keel over and die but his moment never came. "You will walk in front of me and my men. Your knees will be raised up with each step and you will walk with your chin up for all to see. Your hands will be behind your neck and if I see you slip up on any of these accounts I will make absolutely _sure _you are punished accordingly. Do I make myself clear?"

Albert's fingers clenched at his sides as a soft growl came from his throat. So he was to be displayed for all to see, was he? It took everything in him not to start tearing him limb from limb where he stood and yet the prospect of common people getting to have a view so finely sculpted as his body gave him a similar sense of that pride he felt earlier. Heaven knows he had taken long hours in his life to view himself in a mirror, studying his muscles and making sure he was preened and worked to perfection. If he were to make sure people would fall unto his charm, he needed to do it well. With that, in all of his anger, he complied. He turned on his heel and marched forward, face completely devoid of emotion as though he were still a soldier. As if he were marching off to war. Marching to face what monsters and bio organic weapons that lie ahead in wait. He stepped forward, leading the rest of the soldiers though tethered to the captain as though he, himself, was one of them. Head held high and knees coming up as far as he would go, he would comply. It wasn't worth getting punished for a simple matter of walking. Even so, he was still whipped by the leather the soldier held in his hand, attacking at his buttocks, thighs and calves to keep him moving.

He felt color begin to brush along his cheeks as they grew close to the village, seeing how common folk stopped what they were doing to oggle at the group of them, applauding that they had a new tribute, or to comment on the lovely catch the soldiers have picked. He was now all too aware of how his genitals bounced with each step, or the bruises that were beginning to form on his backside. Where had his pride gone? Why was it replaced with embarrassment or humiliation? Still he kept moving on, glaring as a villager would comment on his lovely appearance or his eyes, trying not to lash out at those who would pinch a hind-cheek or prod at his organ to try to get it to harden.

_Barbaric. Everyone here is barbaric. Does no one have any shame? Is this sort of show such a part of the norm here that something as disgusting as human violation is merely status quo? _

Anger burned beneath his chest, searing a heart that he swore no longer beat. He let a puff of air escape from his nose as they called him "a bad little prince" or "spoiled brat prince" and other such names. He let the words fall off of him like water on skin, not letting it sink in. He had been called worse. Way worse. He had been treated worse. He had died so many times. So how was this bad? To make matters worse, the group stopped at an inn. Feeling more sick than hungry, he was somewhat relieved to be made to wait outside. A soldier stayed behind, holding Albert's arms behind his back. A crowd of onlookers came to view the handsome and bound prince. The man announced to the rest of the crowd, "This Prince Albert is a new tribute to The Queen. Observe her new lovely piece of property, Ladies and Gentlemen. He is very disobedient- so even now his organ does not stiffen to the blows of his Masters' paddles. He will have to learn now, will he not?"

The crowd burst into cheers and shouts of "Yes!" and "Teach him!". He wanted to struggle out of the Soldier's grasp, but he knew that if he even so much as attempted to escape, the crowd before him would advance on him like a pack of cerberuses that he so often needed to shoot away from him. His stomach churned once again at the thought, before he knew it he was being turned around with his hands now bound together in front of him by the soldier's large hands. "See how bruised he is already? This is nothing in comparison to the bruises he will endure at the castle." He spoke with a smile. The rest of the crowd giggled and taunted him further. Albert did not direct his gaze downward out of embarrassment, instead stared into the eyes on the one who was handling him.

"They will have to murder me first.", Albert muttered to him with the faintest smile. What's another death to add to the many others he experienced? The soldier's eyes narrowed down at him.

"It seems someone won't go down without a fight. We're going to have to do something about this." the soldier spoke, a bit more to Wesker than to the rest of the crowd. He ordered one of the village members take a rope from one of their homes, once back Albert's arms were strung up above his head to the inn sign so that he almost needed to stand on his tiptoes. He wriggled and writhed, trying to get his hands free of the iron bars that he had once done so easily in his previous life, but it was useless. His struggles only seemed to get the crowd even more riled up. His breath quickened as he saw the soldier remove his belt from the corner of his eye, being forced to stare dead on at the onlookers around him- somewhat reminded of the zombies that had once crowded Raccoon City.

Teeth bit down on the leather in his mouth as a groan shuddered through him with the first wallop from the belt. The leather cracked onto him, sending him a tingling sting of pain up his spine. He was hit again, nearly causing him to loose his footing, a growl escaping from him. He would not be torn down. He would not be defeated to easily. The crowd "ooh"ed and "aaah!"ed as he was left breathless and his throat burned with his groans and growls. He wriggled and jutted his hips this way and that to try to get away from the belt's licks, feeling disgusted with himself when his penis hardened and his growls started turning more moan-like. He always thought himself more of a sadist, and yet as the pain sensitized his flesh and the strap stroked against his genitals every now and then he noticed his head was tilting back- half wanting the treatment, half wanting to murder his tormentor in a horrid, gory show. He bit back curses as the belt continued to split his thoughts, vaguely hearing the crowd's cheers of the performance they were receiving.

Finally the torment stopped as the rest of the soldiers exited the Inn, looking down at the fresh bruises and welts with approval, congratulating the soldier on his thoroughness and smirking at how stiff the Prince had become. Albert refused to look them in the face, feeling they no longer deserved his glare. Instead he turned his head and stared out at the villagers, his chest heaving to bring better air into his lungs and his hair gently falling to his eyes. Before he was untied from the sign a few curious crowd's people walked over to study him, admiring how muscular he looked, the peculiarity of his eyes, or even simply to stroke his length a bit and pinch at one of the welts that developed on his back side. He didn't so much as give them a moan or a simple grunt as they touched him, his features now as cold to them as would be his employees in Umbrella. He hated them. He hated the ones who captured him and the petty villagers who take pleasure in watching Albert Wesker be degraded into nothing more than a common prisoner of war. He who was to become a God. He who mowed down all in his path with his own hands to bring glory into his midst. Most of all he hated that wretched Queen, a woman whom he not yet had met. In fact, he thought, he may hate her more than Redfield. Yet he marched as he was supposed to back to the soldier's horses as the leather lead was attached back to his bit, once again leading the soldiers through and out of the village. The next kingdom would be The Queen's.


	3. Meeting the Queen

The Queen's Castle

Things had been rather silent since their departure from the village. Sunlight poured through empty spaces between the shivering leaves, chattering in the breeze. Nothing could quell the rage bubbling inside him. If it weren't for the fact that he seemingly awoke in a different world, he was sure he almost felt the Uroboros slithering beneath his skin. He looked onward, marching in front of the rest of the soldiers who idly whipped him if he slowed down pace. He heard their hushed murmurs, saying that if all it took was a simple whipping for him to learn then he was going to have no problem at the castle.

"Look at how well he marches now? The stature at which he carries himself? The Queen will surely love him!"

_The Queen. _How he he would love to tear her head from her shoulders or perhaps thrust his hand through her heart as well. The treatment of other people for the simple reason of sex was degrading and filthy. Walking, marching with his knees high, he felt filthy. It wasn't akin to how Oswell Spencer made him feel, but it was a new sort of obscenity. He felt more disgusted that he had almost enjoyed the treatment from the soldier- one who was quite handsome though he would never admit to it. No. He shook his head, almost like shaking a hair from his eyesight, forcing the thought away. He would be insane if he actually was to enjoy being treated like a piece of meat to be toyed with.

They came to another town, one looking much wealthier as Lords and Ladies walked about the area, chit chatting amongst themselves, visiting vendors, or even walking with their own slaves that either marched with them, crawled on all fours, or- to Albert's horror- with boots fitted with horseshoes, a leather bit and rein attached to them, a cart harnessed around their waist and what looked like a tail fitted into their anus. His face paled at the sight of them, and the way they walked. One with a trained eye would've been able to sense some discomfort from them, but some even walked with pride, moving their hips to make the tail move or the tossing of their heads. He was as mortified as he was sickly fascinated- though praying he would never have to be subjected to this. His rage quieted a bit as he looked about with only his eyes, seeing how this was so normal. Slaves were being punished, pleasured, or giving pleasure out in the middle of the streets to anyone that wanted them. It was almost like a set sexuality didn't exist. Everyone was simply sexual. It was so foreign to him, he who never so much as looked in the direction of another human being unless he had to- or in the case of Jake, to pass his genes. His chest pained him at the thought of his son in a different world, how he would look to him. Or how he may have looked to his former STARS operatives, or anyone he knew. Subjected to nakedness and vulnerability in public, forced to be punished in front of other people. The thought of Spencer came to his mind suddenly.

If he saw Spencer in this world, who else would he see?

If one could both pale and blush at the same time, Albert Wesker seemed to have done just that. He detested the idea of someone like Chris peering at him, or of Jill. He suddenly wanted to break free and run, run out of embarrassment and humiliation. But his legs moved as if they were no longer controlled by conscious effort. Rising and falling seemingly in time with his heartbeat- something he was shocked to have. They came upon the steps of the castle. The leather bit was dislodged from his mouth, covered in teeth marks. The corners of his lips ached and tingled when there was nothing there, his jaw moving around to get used to the feeling of not having anything for his teeth to clamp down on. There was no use in screaming. There was no use at shouting profanities at the other soldiers. No one would have bothered to care about him or for his anger or frustration. At least he felt relief from his genitalia now that it rested again, having forced himself to get used to the blows and make it seem to him as though they were happening to someone else.

The doors to the castle opened, revealing a party or banquet of many other lords and ladies. Many other naked slaves scurried about, serving food and pouring wine. Each of them were different and as beautiful as the next, moving about gracefully lest they get paddled by pages. Albert was being lead towards the Queen who sat in her throne next to her son, in turn other lords and ladies sat side by side of the two, possibly the Queen's closer subjects. It took everything inside him not to seethe at her, his face calm aside from his eyes- glowing crimson and glaring daggers at her. Yet as he drew closer, he noticed a sort of cold beauty about her. Perhaps in her elegance or in her stance as she gazed upon the rest of the party with apathy. Very unlike the Prince who ogled at a slave with long blonde hair.

He was forced to kneel before the Queen, though he didn't look down like other slaves had. Instead he stared up into the face of the woman, looking her in the eyes. Challenging her.

_You push me, and I won't hesitate to murder you. _

"How rude... Have you not learned to cast down your eyes from someone of authority?" she spoke idly to him as though they were having an average conversation. That he was not naked in front of her and kneeling like a pauper.

"To show weakness is a death warrant, Your Highness." his voice was icy towards her, biting off at the end of his sentence. The title to her would have been respectful had he not been in such a position. She scoffed at him, leaning down to hook a finger under his chin and look at him. He didn't move from her grasp, merely blowing out a puff of air from his nose.

"A death warrant... How peculiar. Such words would earn you punishment, however, I'm curious about you already." her dark eyes peered into his, both their eyes showing strength and dominance. He wasn't about to back down, not even for the Queen herself. He was a dog to Umbrella and then Tricell before. No longer was he to blindly follow. Others around them looked shocked at her words, now listening to the two speak and interact. "You wouldn't be showing weakness, you would be showing me respect."

"With all that's due, I don't see how looking away is respectful. It seems more of a sign of cowardice. To not look into the eyes of one whom would be your tormentor is a sign that one is too afraid of what is to come."

She hummed and pulled him closer to her lab by her finger. "What makes you believe that I am your tormentor, rageful Prince? Are you not used to the sight of what goes on around you?" she asked, moving her finger up his cheek to play with his hair. A soft growl whispered from within his throat as he touched him. His skin crawled as she caressed him, though somewhere inside of him didn't mind the affection. Still, it reminded him too much of how Spencer had once treated him when he was younger. Being the last of his brothers and sisters, Spencer had paid extra attention to him. He swallowed. He didn't allow himself to think of those times. He almost thought he was out of his life forever when he was murdered; only to see him very much alive now.

"The naked slaves here are being used and abused for trivial tasks, only to be made into sex objects. Enlighten me, My Lady, how does one get used to such a sight?"

"Do you really believe this treatment to be abuse? Look around you." She laughed, as though thinking his words were rather silly. "Study them."

Slowly, he followed his order, his eyes moving about the room at all the princes and princesses. The princes moved with grace as well as strength, their organs swollen to darker colors than their skin. One boy was on the ground and kissing a Lord's slipper as he was spanked with a jeweled paddle. As he was punished to the point of tears, the Lord rose him up to his knees and began to kiss him, stroking his length for a reward. The prince was eager, his hips slowly moving to the rhythm to the strokes as he clasped his hands behind his neck. His eyes darted, peering upon a princess who was eating grapes one by one from the fingers of a Lady who pet her hair. She looked rather dainty, the princess, with slender limbs and thin mousy hair. Her doe-like eyes peered up at the woman with adoration as she kissed another grape from her.

He was shocked from words. Even as those being paddled cried and moaned, writhing upon laps and on all fours, they still were seemingly eager in their punishments. Some more than others. Perhaps it was the promise of certain rewards that followed? Yet even so, some blushing princes made messes of themselves as they were being paddled, unable to control their urges as pain was administered.

He wasn't sure if he were utterly disgusted or strangely fascinated. He was used to such endeavors being done privately between adults. Yet here were young princes and princesses exploiting themselves for the amusement of Lords and Ladies both older and around the same age as they. He looked back at the Queen. His features held no emotion yet there were a million thoughts running through his mind.

"What do you think now?" the Queen addressed him, pulling him from his racing mind.

"It's... Curious. And completely vile." he spoke simply with the slightest hint at a smirk.

"Let me put things simply then: If you do not behave here then you will be sent to the village. Such tasks that will be performed here will seem like a drop of water in comparison to the things done there." her words held a bit of venom, a smirk making her features seem a bit softer all the while making her look ever more cruel.

Yet he was not afraid. "How is that supposed to be a threat?" he asked, cocking his head up at her. A challenging look.

"Because if that can not teach you, then you will be sent back to your home where your parents will be disgraced. They will need to teach you what we do."

His features paled. _Parents? I have none. The closest thing I have to a father is Spencer. And to be treated like this... By him.._

"What kingdom do you hail from?" the Queen asked, the glance at him showing that he was aware of the disturbed look he gave.

"The kingdom of King Oswell Spencer." he spoke, his voice slightly hoarse. For once in this world, he felt fear. He felt sickened once more. _Don't let him treat me like this..._

"And your name?"

"Albert... Prince Albert." his voice did not tremble. He was a picture of bravery. Of anger. He hated her ever more. He hated her for threatening him with the abuse that he had already lived, that he swore that he never will again.

"Tell me then, Prince Albert. Do you fear your father?"

"_He's not my father!" _he spat not realizing that he had stood up to point at her. His chest heaved with breaths, finding it difficult to intake air out of sheer rage. "He was _never _my father..."

_He created me._

_I was nothing more than a pretty experiment to him. I was the last survivor of my brothers and sisters, yet I was used like a blind disciple. He was ruthless with his tests. He was obscene, even..._

He shuddered inwardly. She did not move. She did not order him to kneel like she would have done with others. Not yet, at least. A lord sitting beside her stared up at him with a look of concern, his crystal eyes widened with fear for both parties. "Then I suggest you be on your best behavior, Albert. And let your mind open. This may seem like a strange new world to you now, but in time you will find yourself very much at home, I assure you." she laid a hand on her son's shoulder who was about to stand- possibly to get him back to his knees. Once he was situated once more her hands folded in her lap. "Your eyes tell me a lot about you, Prince Albert. They're very beautiful with their fiery color. They hold so much anger and hate. Your pupils dilated with fear just now-" she stood, laying a hand on his shoulder, gently pushing him back down to his knees. It was a stern sort of gesture- firm but not meant to hurt. "And they widened with wonder at the others who have been serving for months. Be patient and think about what is going on around you. I am not so much of the monster that your King was."

He peered up at her once he was back down to his knees. Her words were reassuring, almost kind even though they were spoken though she were scolding her child. Anger still silently slithered under his skin. Yet he couldn't help but have gained a bit of respect for her. As little as it was, it was still an improvement. He at least didn't hate her as much. Well, maybe not enough to want to murder her. Before he had time to ponder this, the Queen had ordered a few pages to bring him to the teaching halls where his first lessons would begin.


	4. The First Lesson

The lessons begin

Albert was lead by the pages into a great hall near the throne room of the castle on all fours. The room as big with about as many slaves as the ladder, yet they were all either tethered to an iron bar above them or their arms were tied behind them. Moans echoed in the air as well as the impacts of different apparatuses to skin. Many princes and princesses writhed from their spanks while other pages pleasured them, stroking and kissing their parts only to stop mid-way and continue administering punishment. Much to their disappointment.

He looked around silently, studying them as he did in the throne room by the order from the Queen. The pages didn't stop him. He figured they were allowing him to get his fill of what was to happen to him. A knot tied itself in his stomach as he realized what he was to be subjected to. They were teaching you to feel pleasure in the pain. He cast his eyes down, not wanting to look around anymore. His nerves were beginning to get the best of him as anxiety took its toll. He couldn't let them know that he was worried. However, this was something he never experimented with. He was never the type of person to explore in sexual endeavors, never mind even looking at someone in that way. He was always too busy to take part in sexual activity. There was work to do, research for Umbrella or computers to hack into for information, viruses to create. He was part of something huge that would've changed the world as he knew it.

To take part in something so primal and animalistic was below him. There was only one reason why he allowed himself to wind down just enough to cure his urges: manipulation. He was very handsome and those around him weren't the only ones who knew very well. They would have something that he needed, information or what say you, and he would... Persuade them to give him what he wanted. The devil with angel eyes. The only exception to that was the woman he slept with, in which resulted in Jake Muller.

He shook his head as he was being knelled down, trying to force his thoughts away. It hurt him to think of his son. He probably didn't even exist in this world. He didn't even really know him regardless, perhaps the most interaction he's had was holding him before he left. He will always tell himself that there was a good reason, but at that point, was there really?

No matter.

There were more important matters to attend to. His arms were tethered upwards to an iron pole so that he couldn't move to free himself, despite his best efforts. He struggled with the leather lead, trying his damnest to break it and fight- before The Queen's little threat echoed in his mind. The thought of Oswell E. Spencer with that sort of power over him- to make him submit- only brought back too many bad memories for him to even want to endure again. And so he halted his struggles as anger, mixed with a twinge of anxiety, both burned and chilled his heart. A young princess that was tethered next to him looked over at his face curiously, a tiny hint at a smile playing on her lips.

"Are you new here, prince?" she asked, her voice tingling like a bell. A soft sound from sweetened lips. Do angels not know to keep away from demons?

One has no idea the suffering that a demon and ensue.

"That doesn't concern you." he bit, casting his eyes around the room at the unfortunate, almost reveling in their weeping. Filthy creatures, they were, both loving and despairing the pain that was brought; pleasured by the pages. And yet, he was going to be part of the lot.

"For such a beautiful prince, you're quite the arse." the princess mused, noticing his facial expression. "You look at the others as though they were disease-ridden commoners. Do you believe yourself higher than the rest of us?"

He ignored her now, careful not to take in the image on her long darkened curls or her eyes that reflected the greenness of a leaf. She was merely a pest to him, acting rather rude despite the things that he had done to earn that level of superiority.

But was she not correct in her accusation? Was it not in a past life that he had earned his success?

No. This was his afterlife, surely. Surely they had some form of inkling of the great and terrible things he was capable of. He was certainly changed, however. Perhaps she was on a correct train of thought.

They no longer had time to continue their conversation now that the pages had returned with paddles and objects to prod them with so it seemed. The objects looked rather phallic and crude to say in the least; and were exactly that as one phallus was pushed ever so gently inside the princess beside him. They spread her legs wide apart, one page thrusting the toy in and out of her while the man's free hand played with her sensitive flesh between her labia. It seemed as though she could barely contain her passion, twitching her hips back and fourth in time with the thrusts of the toy before the other page brought the paddle down on her behind with a loud 'smack'.

Albert was mortified, her being so comfortable to display her pleasure as easily as the others around him. He was quickly becoming very uneasy, especially to have a phallus anywhere near him. And yet in all his nervousness and disgust his organ had been swelling without his knowledge, passion creeping downward. He gave a sharp hiss as lips touched against his tip, trying to move his hips back to get away from the page though another was prepared with a paddle. A 'thump' sounded all too loud in his ears as the wood impacted his skin, a yelp in pain escaping more from shock. With dilated pupils, much like how a cat's eyes would should they be in fear, he began struggling again against the leather straps attached to his wrists while his hips writhed away from the pages.

He was panicking. He wasn't prepared for the treatment that he was to be getting with the rest of the slaves in the teaching hall, and the sudden jolts of pain and pleasure only made him want to get away that much more. Though, what did he have to fear? He received so much worse when he was alive- at least in the other life. He'd been kicked, punched, stabbed, hell he's _died _four times in that life. Why was he so fearful of a bit of preparatory punishment?

Because this sort of pain was new. It was sensual. Sexual. It was something completely foreign, in a sense. He had some experience before when it came to pain with sexual endeavors but the most he would do is spank the partner on their cheek once or twice just to elicit a reaction or because they asked. As charming and charismatic he was, he wasn't too bothered with pleasing others unless there was something in it for him.

SMACK

The paddle came down once again, eliciting a growl from deep within his throat. He had just enough time to gather his thoughts and become enraged again. The anger was blind and without reason, one moment he was crying out and afraid to feeling like a cornered animal bearing teeth. If he weren't bound up he would have no qualms to hurting these men.

Yet.

There was that little side of him, a part of him that wanted this to continue. He was appalled by his own reactions, even with his incoherent growling and snarling at them as they would suck and spank, his hips rolled with the motion while his fingers gripped into fists. That sweet warmth burned inside him, mixing and bubbling with his anger at them. Perhaps it was their trying to enforce authority over him? Trying to coax him into enjoying what he was receiving? Aside from the fact that it was working and tapping into a more primal side of his mind, he had gained and issue with authorial figures ever since the conversation he had with Spencer at his estate and the Kijuju incident. He no longer wanted to be under anyone's control. He was to be a dog no longer. It was different in the case of the Queen, being that in such a short meeting she had earned a bit of respect from him. However the way the two men treated him; sucking, licking, spanking, it was too much. His breath hissed out through clenched teeth as he fought the urge to moan and cry out, his spread legs trembling with his balled fists. His hair fell in front of his eyes as he bent his head forward, riding the rhythm of the two pages as air shuddered in and out of his chest. As the feeling heightened, he found it difficult to focus on his anger at them, and at the authority they assumed. Lazily his mind assumed there had to be a reason for all of this and he was going to find out why, why these princes and princesses that were his age and maybe even younger were being kept as pleasure slaves and why he had turned up in this world. His thoughts were slipping. His buttocks burned with pain, each smack sending yet another jolt up his spine while his penis throbbed as the page's throat contracted around him. He was mewling, finding it difficult to fight the moans away now, the little sounds escaping through clenched teeth with eyes tightly shut.

Finally he shuddered, all thoughts of rage and death melted away as his orgasm hit, filling the page's mouth as he drank. As soon as he was finished they were gone, indifferent to him as they were to every other slave in the room, making him feel empty. He simply knelled, allowing his bound wrists hold up his weight as he relaxed his trembling body, muscles quivering. He had seen other slaves cry from their spanks yet he didn't. Were they were going light on him? Or maybe he had a much higher pain tolerance than the others? That wouldn't surprise him being the being he was in his other life. Slowly he looked up and over at the dark haired princess next to him, idly wondering how she was taking this. She looked similar to how he must have looked, leaning back and letting her wrists hold her up, panting with the faintest hint of a smile.

"You gave quite a show there, Prince..." she sighed happily and looked over at him. "My time here's almost up and I'm going to be doing more tasks for the lords and ladies. Maybe even the Queen herself." she smiled with a blush. He felt his cock twinge at the thought of the queen, imagining what she could've been capable of, yet it fell back limp after being so recently spent. "This room teaches you to enjoy the pain... Many other slaves come to the castle too afraid of the punishments to even be able to handle simple tasks. I was one of those princesses. And now look at me."

_Yes, just like a good little whore. Am I to be created into the Queen's whore as well?_

He shivered from the thought, another twinge of pleasure and axiety running through him like a zap from an electric current._"_Yes, it seems you certainly came a long way." he spoke panting, though starting to catch his breath. "Being treated like a object for sex is really something to live up for.." he sneered, staring down at himself. His tip still dripped from the pleasure it only just received. Now he was revolted by himself ever more for giving in to the pleasure as well as the pain.

"Perhaps... Though you do learn a good deal about yourself and others from sharing in intimate experiences. Things about yourself are revealed to you faster than soul searching on your own. At that point you're the most vulnerable. The most primal. Doesn't that excite you?" her eyes light up as she spoke, "Not to mention this is nothing compared to having a master or mistress from what I hear from the more experienced slaves. This is only the beginning."

It was very admirable to see how passionate she got about the topic. It did make him curious to know the things of which she spoke of; to have a master or mistress. He sighed. His backside was smarting from the treatment and he was sure welts and bruises formed then. Before long he was being untied from the pole, being lead on his hands and knees down to the washroom to be groomed and to rest. The night was almost over.


End file.
